


Griffin-Blake Quad Squad

by Zoey101



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: A Whole Lotta Babies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Babies, Bellarke Baby, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic, Pregnancy, The Author Regrets Nothing, Unplanned Pregnancy, i went overboard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-01-25 03:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12522308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoey101/pseuds/Zoey101
Summary: Basically, an unplanned (yet not unwelcome) pregnancy results in not only one baby but four.Basically, Clarke and Bellamy are screwed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I AM SLEEP DEPREIVED AND CLUCKY AND JUST WANTED TO WRITE ABOUT SOME BELLARKE BABIES BUT GOT A BIT TOO CARRIED AWAY. 
> 
> I am sorry.

Bellamy and Clarke married in May, their love story a simple one — two years of pure hatred and mockery, six months of slow progression into mutual understanding, one year of inseparable friendship, and merely nine weeks for the discovery that the gods had destined their souls to be together. 

You know, the usual. 

Clarke leaned her heavy head against her husbands shoulder, her fingers running up and down his forearm, lazily tracing his veins as she tried to focus on the interrogation their friendship group of delinquents were currently giving Raven’s new boyfriend, Roan. 

“So where’d you two meet?” Harper asked nonchalantly, even though she already knew the answer, they all knew. All Raven could talk about for the last three weeks was her extremely attractive personal trainer.

And while she tried her hardest to engross herself in hearing Roan’s gruff voice tell the story of their meeting, she just couldn’t. The air in the bar was thick with heat and words, her friends voices fluttering through the air as conversation drifted from one topic to the other. 

Her eyelids fluttered shut.

“You doing alright?” Bellamy asked her softly after a while, obviously sensing something wrong. 

And the truth was — she wasn’t. Her head was pounding, exhaustion tugging at her weary bones.

Swallowing thickly, she looked up at him and nodded. 

“I’m fine,” she lied.

He saw right through her. Turning himself to look at her more closely, concern suddenly etched itself further onto his brow. “You’re not.” He lifted his hand to hold it against her forehead, feeling the clamminess clinging to her skin. 

“Bell, I’m fine,” she insisted, pulling away. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m your husband. I’m meant to worry.”

She smiled at him softly, her love for him evident to everyone who looked upon them. Leaning in she kissed him, their lips pressing together only quickly to avoid the groaning of the people around them. 

Though her attempt at drifting his attention didn't work. 

“I think we better take you home.”

A sigh fell from her lips. “No, Bell-“ but she was cut off.

“Here we go guys,” an overly cheery waitress announced as she placed a tray of steaming hot nachos down on the table. “Enjoy.” 

And while everyone else immediately reached for their serving, the smell wafted and Clarke couldn't help but feel her stomach lurch, her hand immediately rising to her mouth in an attempt to stop anything leaving it. 

“Up, now!” Bellamy ordered, pulling her out of the booth and pushing her towards the bathroom. 

So that’s where Clarke found herself ten minutes later, Bellamy holding her hair back in one hand and rubbing careless patterns onto her back with the other while she emptied the contents of her stomach into the dingy toilet of their favourite bar. 

“It’s probably just a stomach bug,” she coughed after she finished her third round of heaving, wiping her mouth with a square of toilet paper as she leant her weak body against his. “No biggie.”

Bellamy carded his fingers gently through his wife’s hair, sighing softly. “Clarke, you haven't left the house in four days. It can’t be a stomach bug.”

It was true, she just hadn't had any energy to do anything these past few days. It had been a netflix and sweatpants kind of long weekend, so much so that Bellamy had to basically force her away from the TV and convince her to come out tonight. 

“Just shut up,” she grumbled good-naturedly, so he did. 

That’s what she loved about him, that his weakness had always been her, even when they weren't that close.

As they sat there in a comfortable silence, Clarke sinking further into his embrace as he fiddled with the ends of her hair , the thought of pregnancy never even crossed her mind. Not until Octavia came bouncing into the bathroom, banging on the cubicle door before falling to her knees as Bellamy opened it for her. 

The brunette thrusted a water bottle into her best friends hand, which Clarke took gratefully. 

“It’s about goddamn time,” Octavia excitedly shrieked. “Y’all been married for nearly six months now.”

Clarke twisted the cap off the bottle, confused and not entirely listening. Her brain was foggy, her eyelids heavy. 

“O, what the hell are you talking about?” Bellamy asked, equally confused. 

And just as the cool liquid washed at the insides of Clarke’s mouth it finally dawned on her. 

“Clarke’s pregnant, right?”

She threw up again. 

 

* * *

 

“You look,” Bellamy nudged her.

That bastard. It wasn't exactly a one person job.

“No,” Clarke quivered in reply, eyeing him with a frown. “You do it.”

“We’ll do it,” came Jasper’s persistent voice drifting from underneath the doorway, his announcement followed quickly by a collective wave of approvals coming from their other friends that stood just outside. 

The friendship group that Clarke and Bellamy belonged to was a close knit one, so close in fact that the taking of a pregnancy test was a group activity apparently. Even Roan was lingering out there.

“Give us a goddamn minute,” Bellamy grumbled, rubbing his hands over his face before taking a deep breath. “Clarke,” he whispered, taking his hand in hers as they sat on the edge of their bathtub. “On a scale of 1-10 how screwed are we if it’s positive?”

She leant her head against his tense shoulder, squeezing his fingers. “About an 8.”

“That’s not too bad, right?” 

And despite the nerves gnawing at the wall of her stomach she buried her nose into his neck and couldn't help but laugh, his own chuckles escaping his lips just mere seconds later. They were both a nervous, giggling wreck and in all honestly, she wouldn't have wanted it any other way. So when Bellamy finally gathered up the courage to grab the stick from the bathroom cabinet ten minutes later, the air around them was far more comfortable, far more light. 

“What does it say?” Clarke asked him, peaking over his shoulder as he held it in his still trembling hand. 

Of course Clarke and Bellamy had talked about having kids before, both deciding pretty early on to wait a few years before trying. They were still on the young side, twenty two and twenty six respectively, and before this moment, they felt as though they had all the time in the world.

“It’s positive.”

Apparently all they had now was nine months. 

“I’m pregnant?” she breathed, taking the stick from his grip to inspect it closer, and sure enough there was a plus sign. 

“You’re pregnant,” he nodded slowly, eyes welling slightly with tears before the entire mood shifted around them. Sure, they were both petrified at the thought of being entirely responsible for a tiny human, yet this newfound excitement bubbled out of them uncontrollably. She let out an amazed sob before he wrapped her up in his arms, her legs immediately wrapping around his waist as he spun her. 

“We’re having a baby?”

“We’re having a baby,” he confirmed, nuzzling her neck.

Just mere seconds later the bathroom door swung open, Harper, Monty, Jasper, Raven, Octavia, Lincoln, Murphy, Miller, Bryan and even Roan all cramming into the small bathroom uninvited but still welcomed to join in on the celebration. Together they became one big mush of limbs, embraces and tears. It was all very joyous.

“To the goddamn Griffin-Blake’s and their goddamn baby,” Monty shrieked, raising his shot glass in the air, followed immediately by whoops and cheers from every other member of the group as they, minus Clarke, did the same. 

It was amazing how an average Sunday night could turn so significant after peeing on a stick. 

Feeling a warm hand snake around her waist Clarke turned, finding Bellamy’s warm gaze beating down on her. “Hi Clarke,” he whispered softly, cheeks tinted with that shade of pink they turned when he was tipsy. 

Clarke loved tipsy Bellamy.

Smirking, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Hi Bell,” she mumbled against his lips. “How you doing?” 

“M’so happy,” he admitted quietly, pecking her lips with his every couple of seconds to emphasise his apparent joy. “Honestly, I thought I’d be freaking out more, but like…we can handle a baby,” he shrugged, relaxed and calm.

“Yeah?” she questioned, though her smile never left. 

“Well yeah,” he frowned, obviously confused at her slight uneasiness. He seemed to have completely forgotten that he had nearly passed out from stress just thirty minutes prior. “We’re Bellamy and Clarke.” Then, shouting it so everyone could hear it, “We’re Bellamy and Clarke, we can handle a baby!” 

And yeah, they probably could've handled a baby. A singular baby. 

Too bad Clarke was pregnant with four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, 
> 
> Let me know what you think and PLEASE tell me whether or not I should continue this because IDEK why I decided four babies sounded like a great idea, apparently it just did. 
> 
> Endless love,
> 
> \- Zoey. 
> 
> (ALSO IF YOU WANT ME TO CONTINUE THIS FIC PLEASE DONT BE SCARED TO RECOMMEND SOME SUITABLE (mythological???) BABY NAMES BECAUSE I KINDA SUCK AT NAMING THINGS, especially people)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi!
> 
> Just before you read I’d like to say that in no means am I a medical professional, nor have I ever been pregnant. SOOOOOOOO, I am so so sorry if what I’m writing about is complete and utter garbage because I only have the good old, oh so trusty, crusty internet to rely upon. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Clarke woke to a bristly stubble and a contrasting soft pair of lips kissing her bare shoulder. The warmth that radiated from his skin heated her back and stomach where his arm protectively lay. She craved more. Turning, Bellamy’s warm embrace never faltered as she buried her nose into the crook of his neck. 

“I need to go to work,” he whispered into the knotty, tangled mess that was her hair in the morning.

Groaning, Clarke only buried herself deeper. “No you don’t.”

Right here was warm, cozy. She could hear harsh wind and rain pelting outside, and couldn't even come to imagine removing herself from him or this spot. She wanted to lay there forever. 

He pulled her closer, and for once she thought he was going to cave. “You need to go to work too.”

She was wrong.

“No I don’t.”

He only chuckled, running his fingers through her curls as he tried working on the tangles. “Clarke, I hate to say it — but not showing up to work is a sure way of getting yourself fired.”

“Then I’ll quit,” she whispered, barely audible. Of course Bellamy heard it.

“And do what?” he asked, attention drifting from her curls to caressing the skin on her back with his slightly calloused fingers, instantly causing goosebumps to erupt on her skin. 

“Paint,” she shivered under his touch. “I’ve missed painting. Oh, and raise our child perhaps.”

The thing was, money within Clarke’s life had never been an issue. Her parents were extremely successful, living a privileged life and therefore didn't really _need_ to work. Especially after her parents divorced and her father passed, leaving her quite the sizeable inheritance.

Bellamy on the other hand didn’t, he had to work goddamn hard to get where he was today. 

“You don't have to work either,” she suggested, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Ever.”

“Yes I do.” His voice was firm, serious.

“Bell, is this about my mother?”

Clarke’s relationship with Abigail Griffin had always been a rocky one, but any sort of relationship was completely demolished the second Clarke introduced her then boyfriend to the woman. After a tension filled brunch and a blatant interrogation Clarke had her hand touched by her mother while Bellamy went to the restroom. ‘Sweetheart, this may be hard to hear, but I find it hard to believe he’s suddenly so interested in you after all these years. His timing is impeccable, Clarke. Your father dies, leaves you everything he ever owned, and Bellamy suddenly shows a great load of interest. Especially considering his background…I’m just weary.’

Clarke wanted to scream at her, tell her that she couldn't have been more wrong. That it was her that reached for his hand at her fathers funeral, and her who didn't let it go until he dropped her home that night. It was her who showed up on his doorstep at least once a week just needing a hug, and her that initiated their first kiss. That it was him that had been in love with her for years, and her who had been too stubborn to realise it.

But she didn’t.

Clarke stared blankly at her mother, lips never parting in shock nor in means of communication. When Bellamy returned just seconds later she only stood, grabbed his hand in a grasp too hard for her dainty hand, thanked her mother for the meal and left.

She hadn't spoken to her since.

“Clarke,” he warned. “I just like working, alright? This isn't about your mother.” His tone was low, she’d struck a nerve.

“Did me mentioning my mother make ruin this blissful morning?” she teased.

He nodded, pursing his lips. “Just a little.” Peeling the covers away from his side of the bed, he sighed. “You can quit, Clarke. But don't be an asshole, give the store at least two weeks notice.” 

She groaned in retaliation, but ultimately knew he was right. Damn his good soul. “Ugh, fine.”

“Atta girl.” He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, the rough bristles of his wannabe beard scratching at her skin. Though now at least his mood had drifted. “I’ll be in the shower.” 

He rose, padded across the floorboards completely naked to the ensuite, leaving the door wide open as he turned on the spray. And well, Clarke had no other choice but to join him. 

“Does my stomach look big to you?” Clarke asked Bellamy twenty minutes later as they stood in front of their basin, Bellamy shaving and Clarke brushing her teeth, the toothpaste dribbling down Clarke’s chin as she asked. 

Bellamy rinsed the razor under the tap, not even sparing her a glance. “You look beautiful.” 

“That wasn't the question.” Prodding gently at her stomach, Clarke sighed. “It looks massive.”

Finally he turned, eyeing her and her stomach with a soft and affectionate gaze. His warm hand came to rest at her blooming bump, thumb sweeping the skin. “Big is good. Healthy, right?” 

“I guess,” Clarke frowned, though pulled out her phone anyway, searching up pictures of other women pregnant at seven weeks, which she had calculated was roughly how far along she was. She scrolled, frowned, then turned the phone to her husband. “Doesn’t my stomach look bigger to you?”

Bellamy took the phone from her as she turned to spit out her toothpaste. Once again turning back to find the phone shut off. He had placed it on the counter, proceeding to then crowd her against said counter. “Stop fretting,” he whispered onto the column of her neck, pressing sparse kisses where he wanted to. “You’re going to the doctor tomorrow to confirm, right?”

She closed her eyes when he kissed just below her ear, him knowing damn well it was her favourite spot. “Yeah,” she breathed, grasping at the towel around his waist.

“Then just ask him what he thinks.” 

She breathed, albeit a little shaky. “Ok.”

He pulled away, smiling. “You’re really getting all worked up, aren't you?” 

Clarke nodded shyly, pulling the towel swiftly away from his waist with far more confidence. “Round two?” Clarke asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes and smirking. 

“I kinda like these pregnancy hormones,” he smirked back at her. “But I’m gonna be late.”

“Ten minutes,” Clarke pouted, tugging at him gently. “Please.”

For the first time this morning he caved, hoisting her up and throwing her over his shoulder, smacking her ass as he turned to walk through the door. 

“Careful of the babies,” Clarke squealed, hitting him back firmly. 

He unceremoniously dumped her back onto the unmade bed, staring down at her with a questionable look on his face. “Babies? he frowned. “As in plural?”

“With a stomach this big it’s bound to be twins, Bell.” she augured, sitting up only to pull him down to her level. 

He gripped her waist with one hand, the other forearm resting just next to her temple on the mattress as he pushed her curls away from her face. “We’re not having twins, Clarke.”

And well, he wasn't wrong.

  


* * *

 

“Slight pinch,” Doctor Jackson sighed a little apologetically as he lunged the needle into the vein in the crook of Clarke’s arm for the second time that week, withdrawing a vial of blood that traveled through it. She winced, though tried hiding it. Clarke hated needles, however hated them a little less knowing it was necessary to check everything was going alright, that she was healthy, that her pregnancy was going smoothly.

“You’ll get the results in about a day or two,” he announced, placing the cotton pad to stop the minimal bleed. “Just judging by your symptoms however, I do believe that there’s a high possibility it'll be a positive result. Now, if the morning sickness persists just remember to rest, keep up your fluids, try bland foods and I’d recommend you start taking some multivitamins.” He handed her an abundance of pamphlets, explained them all to her thoroughly. “Any questions?”

“Just one,” Clarke chewed at her lip. “My stomach…It’s bigger than I had anticipated so early on. Is that normal?”

Jackson smiled a soft smile. “Well, the truth is I can’t give you a definite answer. Every pregnancy is different, Clarke.” 

She pursed her lips, unsatisfied. “Any ideas? Twins?” 

He gave a breathless laugh, obviously knowing the drill. Clarke was a first time mother, and in all honestly she was terrified, he was a doctor, he could tell. “Is there a history of twins in either you or your husbands family?”

Clarke frowned thoughtfully, soon realizing that she didn't know anything about Bellamy's family. “I don't know. I don't think so.” 

He only shrugged. “I’m afraid to confirm there’d have to be an ultrasound. And thus far, there is no reason to conduct one so early. I’m sorry, Clarke. All we can do is wait and see.” 

Accepting defeat Clarke rose. Patience had never been her strong point.

  


* * *

 

It was a bleak Friday evening when the doctor finally called. 

Clarke had Bellamy’s head in her lap, the bowl of popcorn she was snacking from resting on his temple. They were meant to be watching the movie together, though never did it ever happen. When it was Bellamy’s turn to pick Clarke usually fell asleep, and when it was Clarke’s, Bellamy usually did the same. 

Today was no different. Though it was no surprise, he never had liked _Fried Green Tomatoes._ Still it remained, and probably would always remain one of Clarke’s favourite movies. 

However, as the movie dragged on, and despite her best efforts, her heavy eyelids unconsciously began to drift shut. She was feeling more and more exhausted with each day that passed.

Sighing in slight anger of missing her favourite movie, she threw the now empty bowl on the coffee table, slid down into a laying position and clung to Bellamy’s back, blissfully falling into slumber to the voice of Idgie Threadgoode.

“Babe.” Clarke awoke an hour later to find Bellamy holding her buzzing phone in his outstretched hand, frown evident on his brow as he failed to even open his eyes to look at her. “Make it stop.”

She did what she was told, albeit a little groggy in her actions. Sliding her finger across the screen and not even bothering to check the I.D she held it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Clarke, It’s Doctor Jackson here. Have I caught you at a bad time?” 

Immediately she sat up, pushing Bellamy off the couch in the process. He only grunted in response, not caring all that much. By now he was use to it. “No, no…” she caught a glance at the clock that hung on the wall above the television. _07:10PM._ God, they were lame. “Not at all.” 

“I’ve got the results here from the bloodwork taken on Wednesday,” there was a pause long enough to make Clarke’s stomach plummet. “I’d like to book you in for a transvaginal ultrasound.” 

“Is something wrong?” Clarke asked weary, immediately alerting Bellamy who sat up too quickly, almost smacking his head on the side of the coffee table in the process. He watched her, eyes wide as he shuffled closer. 

Luckily, “Nothing of the sort,” Jackson announced. “Just extremely elevated hCG levels.” 

“Oh,” she breathed a sigh of relief, “So…” 

“It could be nothing. It could be something. I just want to make sure.” 

Luckily he did.

  


* * *

 

“Definitely a multiple pregnancy,” the ultrasound technician announced, moving the probe ever so slightly. 

And even through the discomfort Clarke couldn't help the smug smile spreading across her lips. “What did I say, Bellamy Blake? You know I’m always right.” 

She turned to him, though a frown replaced her joy as she looked upon his unreadable expression. His tanned complexion had paled, his skin visibly turning clammy. He said nothing.

“Bell.” She held his hand tighter, having to try hard not to let it slip from her grasp. “We can handle twins.” 

Though her words seem to have no effect on him. The column of his neck twitched a little, his wide eyes staring not at her but at the screen where their little blobs were projected. “She didn't say anything about twins, Clarke.”

And with that she turned to the technician. The woman’s face said it all.

“I’m counting four, strong heartbeats.”

Apparently that was all the confirmation Bellamy needed. 

Clarke began to feel the tears of shock streaming down her cheeks while also feeling a sweaty hand slip freely from hers. 

Bellamy backed away from the table slowly and carelessly, showing no sign of hurt as he landed with a heavy thud against the nearest wall, falling down it quickly until he sat like a boneless rag doll on the ugly green carpet. He was mumbling something under his breath, though Clarke was too involved in her own hysterical blubbering to hear it. 

“No,” Clarke tried. “You need glasses, alright? You’re seeing double twice, and it’s only twins. We can handle twins. W-w-we can’t handle four. I’m twenty-fricken-two years old.”

“Miss Griffin, I understand. But I’m seeing three here, and I believe there’s a fourth over here.” She pointed to the screen, and though Clarke was looking at it, she wasn’t, not really.

“No,” was apparently all Clarke could manage now, shaking her head defiantly. “No.” 

The technician chewed her lip thoughtfully, taking in both Clarke and Bellamy’s state. “I know I just said I understood, but in all honesty I have absolutely no idea what you’re both going through. Let me just give you two a moment alone, and I’ll be back shortly to discuss your options.”

“Options,” Clarke breathed shakily, speaking for the both because Bellamy wasn't able to form any sort of coherency right now. “What options?” 

“Selective reduction…” the woman began, only to be stopped by the raise of her patients hand. 

She left.

The numbness struck, and for minutes nothing was said.

“I can hear your watch ticking.” Bellamy’s whisper finally broke it. “I don't believe we’ve ever sat in such silence before.”

His voice cut a sweeping gash through her heart.

“Bell,” Clarke cried, wiping away her tears. “I know we’re both in shock. But what the hell do you think you're doing?” 

His eyes finally snapped to hers, mouth agape. 

“Can you hold my goddamn hand?” 

He rose, then did. 

“What’d you want to do?” he asked her softly after a while, wiping his damp cheeks on his shirt sleeve, breathing still a little shallow. 

And after much silent deliberation she sighed, at least trying for a smile once it had all sunk in. “I’m in if you are.” 

He squeezed her hand, lips never moving into neither a smile nor a frown. 

It scared her into thinking maybe he wasn’t. “Bell?” 

She watched as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, expression still unreadable.

“I need to make a call.” 

“Who the hell could you possibly be calling right now?” Clarke asked, stunned.

At last, one of those rare blooming smiles her husband saved just for her spread across Bellamy’s lips, eyes no long glassy with tears but rather excitement with just a tiny hint of nerves. Her heart exploded with relief. 

“Gustus.” 

She lifted a questioning eyebrow, cocking her head. “From work?” 

“He’s selling his minivan,” Bellamy nodded, scrolling through his contacts until he found the correct number. "And I have this inkling we’re going to be needing one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey,
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed my little update we have here. 
> 
> Anyway, I was honestly overwhelmed with the about of feedback and name suggestions I got last week, I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH. If any of you are writers yourself you much know how awesome it is to get comments on your work, and every time I saw something in my inbox I’d cry a little, no joke. 
> 
> YOU’RE ALL AMAZING. 
> 
> FIANLLY, the lil Griffin-Blake blobs are named. (I think) I SAID THAT LIKE LAST WEEK AND THEN I WENT AND COMPLETELY CHANGED THEM ALL BECAUSE IM A TERRIBLE HUMAN BEING -- but in all honestly the suggestions from the last chapter helped me so so much. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.
> 
> Endless love,
> 
> Zoey
> 
> P.S sorry for any mistakes. I'm tired and I don't have a beta.
> 
> ALSO, don't be scared to drop your tumblrs down there if you want.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOOOOOOOOOOO this chapter is longer than I had originally anticipated. 
> 
> Sorry about that.

When the ultrasound technician returned she brought with her a doctor, and once again excitement fizzled out into the dread and worry that accompanied such a high risk pregnancy. 

The doctor was a soft spoken woman, a smile on her lips whenever she announced the miracle that this pregnancy was, especially it being of natural conception. However there was no mistaking the concern when the inevitable discussion about the risks commenced.

— Preterm labour and delivery  
— Preeclampsia  
— Placental Abruption  
— Increased chance of infant fatality  
— Hypertension  
— Twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome  
— Increased risk of birth defects  
— And of course, miscarriage.

Clarke took Bellamy’s shaky hand in hers, closed her eyes and swallowed the lump that dragged at the column of her throat. It was all so surreal, amazing…and terrifying as fuck. 

When the consult was over and they were given a referral for a specialist nearby they left the clinic, dazed, confused and overwhelmingly in a state of shock, pictures of their four little blobs for now named A, B, C and D in-between their fingers. 

“It’s games night,” Bellamy murmured, tapping his still sweaty palms against the steering wheel once they back in the safety of their car, his sweat leaving marks against the black leather. He spared a sidewards glance at Clarke. 

She was wringing her hands together like she did when she was anxious, chewing at her lip with her eyes shut tightly. “I don't want to go.” 

Bellamy had always appreciated her bluntness. “Glad one of us said it,” Bellamy mumbled, gathering the energy to turn to ignition on. “Wanna go home?”

He watched as her eyes fluttered open slowly, her gaze falling to her stomach. Her upper half was completely covered in her favourite winter coat, a pale pink parka with a grey fluffy hood he had gotten her for her birthday, her stomach and bump not at all visible. Still, she placed a hand there anyway, fingers tapping against it gently. 

“No,” she whispered. Eventually, after a period of prolonged silence she looked up at him. “I want to see my dad.”

* * *

Greenville Cemetery was in no way a creepy nor eerie place to either Bellamy or Clarke. It was peaceful, providing a sense of comfort even though the environment was intended to be macabre. The December sky was just beginning to drop the first speckles of snowfall, its flakes snowflakes finding purchase atop of stone and marble headstones. 

“I’ll meet you back here?” 

Every month or so Clarke and Bellamy would make their way down here, sometimes together, sometimes not. They found solace being here, being close to the people they loved but were no longer with physically. 

“Yeah,” Clarke smiled softly, rising up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “I won’t be long.”

She turned, heading to the area in which her fathers grave lay, east, amongst the bare flowerbeds that usually flourished in spring.

Bellamy headed towards the peace garden, west, sitting on the bench underneath the bare willow tree. Vera Kane had no grave. She was apart of this tree now, her ashes scattered around the trunk four years ago. 

The Blake’s met Vera Kane when their mother, Aurora Blake, went through a sort of spiritual awakening after a close call with death. It was alcohol related, a scary car accident that had nearly landed himself and his sister in state care. The woman sorted herself out though, finding The Church of Eden and meeting the religious leader of the organisation, Vera Kane.

For a while everything was good. Though Octavia and himself wished to have no affiliation with the practice they respected it, saw that their mother was content and happy. There was peace within the household, a key belief in the church — the creation of a loving, safe and faith filled environment in which children were to thrive in. 

But things changed. Happiness never really lasted long in Bellamy’s life.

His mother met some bozo, a freak who was thoroughly convinced that if they relocated to some island in the South Pacific they would find everlasting life. Apparently Aurora believed it too, taking off one night after an argument with her son.

Bellamy was seventeen when she left, not yet old enough to legally care for his eleven year old sister. 

They were welcomed into Vera’s home with open arms, and though it was strange at first being immersed in a house where The Church of Eden’s beliefs were strictly enforced, they grew accustomed. A blessing with every vegetarian meal, many hours spent gardening the luscious grounds of the Kane Cottage and above all, the expression of affection to every member in the household. They were all family now. 

In all honesty Bellamy still didn't fully understand the religion, something about the Earth, something about the connection to it, something about love and something about children. The Church of Eden really loved children, especially in abundance. 

“You’d be proud of me, Vera,” Bellamy whispered, leaning back so his head rested against the trunk. “My wife, Clarke… O’s friend, remember her?” He faltered. “What am I saying? Of course you remember her. She’s all I talk about.” Rubbing his jaw, he continued, “Well, she’s pregnant.” 

A strong wind blew, swaying the bare branches of the tree slightly. Bellamy smiled, a part of him really believing it was Vera responding. 

“Quadruplets,” Bellamy announced. 

The wind stopped.

“I know,” he huffed a short and breathless laugh, “I’m kinda freaking out too.”

For a while Bellamy said nothing, listening with eyes closed to the rustling of the branches, just allowing the gentle breeze that had returned to gently sweep across his exposed face. Every other part of him was covered in some sort of clothing. Never had he experienced such a cold winter before. 

He was about to start talking again, strike up a one way conversation about how they planned to deal with the situation, the raising of four children, when he heard a twig snap nearby. 

His eyes shot open, falling immediately upon the frame of Marcus Kane. He had aged considerably since the last time he had saw him four years ago, an unrecognisable salt and pepper beard sprouting around his mouth. Somehow, it made the man look kinder, more approachable. 

“Bellamy.” He sounded surprised to see him, a rare smile that Bellamy couldn't quite remember spreading across his lips.

A stunned Bellamy rose to his feet, holding out his hand with his own warm smile. “Kane. It’s been a while.”

“Too long,” he replied, shaking his hand firmly, still smiling. “I haven't seen you since…”

“The funeral.” 

Though being Vera’s son, in the seven years that Bellamy had known the family he had only met Kane a handful of times. He was the owner of a very successful law firm in the city, and while Vera was extremely proud of him, he knew how much she missed his presence in the home. Despite The Church of Eden’s love for big families, he was her only child — and she was a lonely woman, even with two other children to care for. 

Bellamy also knew the amount of regret Kane had with not spending enough time with her in the lead up to her death, how distraught he was when he had to bid his mother farewell.

“Right,” Kane breathed, smile faltering a little as he dropped his hand. “Do you come here often?”

Bellamy sat back down again, Kane following after a hesitant moment. 

“When I can,” he announced, looking into his brown eyes. “About once a month.”

Kane exhaled, looking away. 

“You?” Bellamy asked, cautious.

Rubbing at his beard the man only sighed. “Not nearly enough.” 

They sat in silence for a while, a silence that was somewhat comfortable. 

“You’re married now, huh?” Kane asked softly, eyeing his hand. 

As Bellamy looked down he found his fingers tracing the inscribing of his silver wedding band. He found himself doing it unknowingly lately. It kept him grounded when his mind began to wonder.

“Yeah,” Bellamy breathed with a smile, forcing his fingers to stop. “Since May.” 

“Congratulations.” He sounded like he really meant it, looking deep into his eyes. “You happy?” 

Bellamy couldn't help but feel a smile radiate on his lips. “Yeah,” he confessed. “I am.”

“S’good. You deserve to be happy, Bellamy. You’re a good guy.”

“And you?” Bellamy questioned. “Are you happy?” 

Kane smiled his own smile. “I’m getting there.” 

“Bell?” 

Bellamy pushed the hair out of his eyes and looked up, finding his wife standing before him. Her eyes were red rimmed and the blue still glassy, an obvious sign she’d been crying again. She was wrapping her coat tighter around her torso, shivering slightly in the cold.

He watched as her gaze fell to his companion, blinking in surprise. “Kane?”

The tautness of the material caused her minuscule bump to appear, and as she looked down she realised it, releasing her grip all too quickly. 

If Kane noticed, he didn't say anything.

Instantly Bellamy was on his feet, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She was shivering, he couldn't help it. He didn't like her being cold. “You know each other?” 

Kane rose, smiling albeit a little awkwardly. 

“Family friends,” Clarke spoke, though showed no signs of reaching for him, whether it be for a handshake or a hug. “Long time no see.” 

“Yeah,” he replied, looking a little dumbfounded, confusion etched onto his brow. He looked between the pair. “You guys married each other?”

They nodded in unison, Bellamy smiling, Clarke looking a little more reserved.

“Abby didn't say anything.” 

Another harsh wind began to blow through the air. 

“Abby doesn't know,” Clarke stated, taking Bellamy’s hand from where it rested on her shoulder to intertwine their fingers, pulling him closer. 

Kane looked a little uneasy at the announcement. 

“We don't talk anymore. But you knew that already.” 

There was a short span of silence that followed. 

“Mom didn't tell you it was because of Bellamy, did she?” Clarke posed it as a rhetorical question, and still, Kane tried to babble something close to an answer. 

Clarke cut him off. “How do you two know each other?”

“Vera’s son,” Bellamy replied before deciding he couldn't deal with the situation any longer. “Look, we better get going, Clarke.” He squeezed her hand encouragingly. “It’s games night and we don’t want to be late.”

It was a lie. They weren't going. 

Clarke smiled softly at him, grateful, before turning to Kane and nodding. 

“It was good to see you again,” Bellamy admitted, reaching his free hand out to shake Kane’s once more. “We’ll have to keep in touch.”

He watched as Kane’s eyes fell quickly upon Clarke’s face, calculating whether or not the statement was actually genuine. “Yeah,” he cautioned, deciding maybe it was. “Let’s do that.” 

As they turned and walked away Clarke linked her arms with her husbands, her head resting slightly on his forearm as they made their distance away from the other man. “They’re dating, my mom and him. I’m pretty sure they were having an affair before. I think that’s why my parents divorced in the first place.”

Bellamy snuck a look over his shoulder. Kane had his head in his hands, seemingly mumbling something to either himself, his mother or to the world in general. In a way, despite the knowledge of the apparent affair, he still felt sorry for him.

“You didn't tell him, did you?” Clarke asked him quietly. “About the babies?” Her voice faltered a little at that. They were both still in shock but had to cover it up earlier as to not arise suspicion from Kane. 

“No,” Bellamy answered plainly, before frowning. “I was talking to Vera before, and I don't know — maybe there was a chance he heard it. He didn't say anything, though.”

There was an unreadable look on Clarke’s face when he looked down at her. 

“You think I’m weird for talking to Vera aloud?”

“No. I do it too,” Clarke whispered, smiling with no humour. 

They made their way back to the car, Bellamy turning on the engine and heater but making no move to leave just yet. Pulling out his phone, Bellamy sent off a quick message to the group chat: _Clarke and I can’t make it tonight. Have fun. Talk later._

It was no surprise when a reply dinged back almost instantly.

 _4:54 PM_  
**Jasper**  
_What!?_

_4:54 PM_  
**Jasper**  
_Clarke’s too competitive to skip._

_4:55 PM_  
**Raven**  
_Shut up, Jas._

_4:55 PM_  
**Raven**  
_Didn't you guys have your first scan today?_

Bellamy sighed, looking over at Clarke. She was on her phone too, though didn't seem to be reading the messages. “I’m gonna order us some dinner alright?” Her voice sounded still a little broken, “What are you hungry for?” 

He shrugged. “You don't want me to cook something?” 

Shaking her head she eyed him. “No, Bell. I just wanna relax, I want you to relax too. We’ll go home, eat, have a bath. Ok?” 

Reality seemed to be setting in. 

He could see her getting worked up and not wanting to push the matter he only nodded, reaching for her hand. It seemed to calm her down. “Pizza?”

“No. Cheese makes me nauseous.”

“Chinese?” 

Clarke cocked her head to the side, seemingly contemplating it. “Thai?”

Bellamy smirked, nodding again. “Sure.”

On the way home, Bellamy’s phone began to rang. He took it quickly from the cupholder where it had sat, saw that it was Octavia, then handed it promptly to Clarke. “Do you mind taking it?” 

She silently shook her head, swiping it to answer.

”Hey, O…No no, everything is fine. I promise…O, please. We’re just tired, me especially… I know, I know… Tell everyone not to worry, ok? We’ll talk later…Ok then. Bye bye.” 

The call ended, Clarke letting out an exhale of sheer exhaustion. 

“Can we not tell anyone for a while?” she murmured gingerly. “That there’s four of them.” 

Bellamy breathed, lifting their joined hands to press a lingering kiss to her fingers. “Yeah.” 

Deep down they both knew that maybe a few weeks from now Clarke mightn't still be carrying all the babies. That they might only have three to raise, or two, or one, or God forbid…none.

* * *

With the steaming thai takeout in his hands Bellamy made his way towards the bathroom. Clarke had already drawn the bath, already immersed herself in the jasmine smelling warm water and bubbles, hair tied into a loose twist atop of her head. She had her eyes closed, startled only when he held the plastic carton and chopsticks out in front of her.

“I think we’re dwelling,” Clarke spoke, watching as her husband started unbuttoning his shirt, “on something that hasn't happened yet.”

She leaned forward, Bellamy slipping in behind her once he had fully undressed. He pulled her back flush against his front, his legs caging her body in slightly. His right arm automatically rested on her middle, fingers lazily tapping the skin while the other held out the thai.

“This is meant to be the happiest moments of our lives.” Clarke broke the chopsticks apart, pinching some noodles in their grasp before lifting them to Bellamy’s mouth. “Instead, we’re terrified about possible complications that haven't yet complicated anything.”

She felt him nod behind her. 

“So let’s not, alright?” She lifted the chopsticks to her own mouth, chewing thoughtfully on her serving before adding, “Let’s be happy, excited.” 

Bellamy hummed in quiet agreement.

“But I still want to wait before telling everyone. Ok?”

“Sure.”

The steaming water barely reached their navels, their legs protruding at awkward angles as they tried their best to adjust the bath designed for one adult into one that could fit two whilst simultaneously trying to eat dinner. 

“I think we’re gonna need a bigger bath,” Bellamy mumbled softly in Clarke’s ear, watching as she poked the chopsticks at the Pad Thai, looking for a piece of chicken. 

“I think we’re gonna need a lot of things,” she replied, confident. “A bigger house, that minivan, four of everything.”

Their to-do list was going to be a long one.

Bellamy hummed once more, thumb sweeping her stomach. 

“What do you want them to be?” Clarke asked, noticing his actions.

“Healthy.”

“Obviously.” She rolled her eyes. “Gender wise, though?”

Bellamy stayed silent for a while, chewing at his lip. Then, “Girls. All girls.” 

“Seriously?” 

“I know how to raise girls,” he shrugged. 

Clarke smiled, hand resting atop of his. “You’ve only raised one girl, Bell. You’ll be good at raising a boy, too.” 

“You think there’s a boy in there?” 

Clarke turned ever so slightly, head tilted back so she could press a kiss to his neck. “Yeah, I do.”

* * *

In a single blink of an eye it seemed as though weeks had passed. More scans, more specialists, more lies. Their friends still didn't know there was more than one baby, and Bellamy was beginning to feel more and more guilty every time the topic of the pregnancy came up, even just looking at his friends made him want to blurt it out. 

It was Christmas Eve, everyone gathered in the living room of Lincoln and Octavia’s apartment, snuggled up on various couches and arguing over what movie to watch. 

Clarke wasn't partaking though, she already knew she wasn't going to make it through the first twenty minutes let alone the whole thing. Her heavy head was resting in Bellamy’s lap, already dozing. One hand of his was carding through her curls, the other resting protectively on her stomach. He’d been doing that a lot recently, not that Clarke minded. 

“You know,” Octavia piped up out of the blue. “You two aren't telling us all that much about this baby.” 

Clarke’s eyes fluttered open. 

The statement stopped all other bickering, all of them turning towards the pair on the sofa.

“She’s got a point,” Miller joined in, throwing an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder. 

“What’s there to tell? It’s early on,” Clarke tried defending them, voice calm. “There isn't that much going on in there.”

“You’ve surprised me, Griffin,” Murphy smirked before stuffing his face full of popcorn. “I thought you’d be one of those annoying mothers who talk only about their precious little gremlins, those who are incapable of actually having a conversation about any other topic.” 

“Shut up, Murphy. This is serious.” Raven apparently wanted her say. “We haven't seen any ultrasound pictures, which we all know you have. Y’all flipped when I went to look at the one you have on your fridge. You tore it down before I could even see anything interesting.” A pause. Then, “What are you hiding?” 

“Nothing!” The blonde exclaimed a little too loudly, sitting up so she could curl herself into Bellamy’s side. He leaned down when she did so, murmuring her name just low enough for her to hear. 

She knew how desperately he wanted to tell them all, though still shot him a warning look, shaking her head. Fourteen weeks. Fourteen weeks and the chances of miscarriage dropped, they had decided to wait until then to start telling everyone. They had just reached eleven.

“We don't even know the due date,” Jasper added, throwing his hands in the air. “At least give us the due date.”

“We don't know the due date either, ok?” Bellamy snapped, regretting it almost instantly. 

They all blinked, Octavia being the first to speak up. “How do you not know the due date? With all these scans you’re having-“ 

“It’s a high risk pregnancy, O! They can’t guarantee a delivery date.” 

Clarke smacked him right in the chest, but it was too late. 

“High risk?” Harper asked gently and suddenly worry had etched onto every single face present. 

As Bellamy looked down at his wife guiltily she only nodded with a roll of her eyes, allowing him to continue before shutting them tightly, bracing herself. 

“Clarke’s not pregnant with one baby. She’s pregnant with four.”

Christmas excitement and movie long forgotten, all hell broke loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Ideas? General queries? 
> 
> Hit me up. 
> 
> Also, thanks for reading! :)))))
> 
> (P.S I changed one of the kids names again. I hate myself for it.)


	4. Chapter 4

There was yelling, there was screaming and then there was this. The incoherent blubbering and heavy parade of foul language that usually accompanied such big news. 

“You’re fucking kidding. Say you’re fucking kidding.”

“Four? The fuck? Is that even possible?”

“You’re telling me I bought a goddamn fucking expensive, custom onesie and now I have to order three more?”

“They’re joking, guys. Wait. You’re serious? What the fuck!”

“Fuckin’ hell.”

“Why didn't you tell us earlier?”

And while Bellamy tried to calm everyone down, explain the entire situation. It was early, they were scared, and though they tried their best to be excited — every time they entered the clinic, deep down they felt as though something terrible was bound to have happened. Everything thus far had been going splendidly and eerily well. They were both (Clarke more so than Bellamy) a little worried that saying something would curse the wellness. 

Clarke began to cry. 

She was completely overwhelmed, humorously emotional. 

Chin trembling her face twisted, distress and sadness etched onto her brow. “Don’t,” she whispered quietly and despite the lowness in volume, everyone heard her. “Please don’t do this.”

They fell silent, watching her fall apart. 

“We are terrified. I’m a mess. Bellamy’s also a mess but he’s hiding it better. And we just…we don’t deserve it. You can be upset that we didn't tell you earlier…but don't you dare yell at us, at me. I can’t take it right now. I’m exhausted,” she paused, gulping in some much needed oxygen. “And we thought we were only having one, two at the most. How do you think we felt when we found out there was four?”

She took in a shuddering breath, carelessly wiping her nose on the sleeve of her husbands shirt. It’s not like he minded one bit, by now he was use to it. The others though, they couldn't contain their muffled giggles. 

Clarke only blubbered even more, climbing into her husbands lap as she cried. “They’re laughing at me,” she mumbled just for him to hear, head dropping to his shoulder. “Why are they laughing at me?” 

“Because you’re hormonal,” he smiled gently, leaning in to kiss her temple. “And adorable,” he whispered. A frown marred his brow. “And frankly kinda gross.” 

She only hiccoughed in response, chewing at her lip to stop herself from sobbing even more. 

Bellamy chuckled breathlessly, wrapping his arm tighter around her shoulders, holding her close. He loved it. He loved her.

“We’re sorry,” he finally announced, addressing the group, “that we didn't tell you. Clarke wanted to wait, and I can’t blame her. You can’t blame her.”

The group remained silent still, laughter dying, just absorbing the reality of it all. 

“Four?” Raven asked eventually, nodding towards Clarke’s stomach. 

He nodded, pouting his lips slightly. “Four.” 

“How the fuck did you manage that?” Murphy asked, seeming like he was generally interested. 

Both Clarke and Bellamy shrugged in unison. They honestly didn't really know either.

“What are you gonna do?” Octavia spoke, voice wavering ever so slightly. When they both turned to her, eyes wide, thinking she was perhaps implying something they in no means ever wanted to think about, she shut them down. “Not like that!” She collected herself, sighing. “You live in a one bedroom apartment. Bell, you work five days a week.”

“I’ve spoken to the school,” Bellamy admitted rather quickly. “All goes well, and I’ll take a year off. After that, I’ll be a substitute for a while. Until we find a good routine, I’m not leaving Clarke by herself.” 

Clarke nodded, supporting him. “And the babies will be in the hospital for the first few weeks, anyway. Eventually we’ll want to move. For the time being though, Bell and I will sleep in the living room and the babies will have our room.”

“That doesn't sound functional.”

Bellamy frowned, not fully understanding Octavia’s harsh interrogation. “It’s what we want, O. We want this to minimise the stress surrounding us right now. Moving would just heighten the level.”

Octavia looked barely satisfied with that answer. 

Bellamy knew that she was only looking out for him, protecting him like he had done for twenty one years. But he wanted her to be excited like she was when she thought there was only one. So far, she seemed displeased. Unsettled. 

While everyone congratulated them, supported them, declared how helpful they promised to be — Octavia remained silent. 

It hurt.

Nevertheless, as everyone went off to bed that night she held her brother close. “I’m happy, I am,” she whispered. 

“You’re not,” he breathed, pulling back. “You’re scared.”

When Octavia looked down at her socks, scuffing her feet on the hard wood, he knew he was right. “You’ve lost a lot already.”

His eyes fluttered shut in reaction. “Don’t say that, O.” He shook his head, trying so hard to keep himself from saying things he knew he would regret. “Don’t you dare.” Bellamy’s voice was soft. A whisper. He couldn't risk Clarke overhearing. “You’re going to be their only biological Aunt. You’re meant to support us the most. Please do that. If not for me then for Clarke.”

“Bell…” but he cut her off, pulling her in for another hug. A quick one.

“Go to bed,” he murmured. “Merry Christmas. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

 

* * *

Christmas came. 

They drank hot chocolate, opened presents and played boardgames. Octavia apologised for the night prior, making it up by excessive smothering. She made numerous cups of ginger tea, helped Clarke up from her place on the couch (even though she was quite capable herself), and even massaged her sister-in-laws feet, despite the fact she had barely used them all day. Dinner was made and the blonde was force fed a second helping. Clarke threw everything up twenty minutes later. 

Christmas passed.

New Years Came. 

Everyone but Clarke got drunk. She was deemed DD for the foreseeable future. At midnight Bellamy kissed his wife, while others around them did the same. Jasper met a girl, Maya. (They kissed too.) Despite Bellamy’s hangover, the next morning he was the one caring for Clarke. Morning sickness was a bitch. 

New Years passed. 

On the 18th of January the radiator broke. 

They both awoke that morning in pools of their own sweat, duvets and sheets kicked down towards the end of the bed in a careless clump. The air was thick, their skin sticky. 

Clarke was literally dripping, her bra entirely soaked through. And to make matters worse, at fifteen weeks she had well and truly popped. She was uncomfortable, even more so now that she was finding harder to get up in the morning. This, she kept reminding herself, was only the beginning.

“I’m going to take you to O and Lincoln’s,” Bellamy announced, towel wrapped around his waist as he emerged from his cold shower. He had to go to work. A place where the radiator actually worked. He was the lucky one.

It was snowing outside but it felt as though they were sweltering under the summer sun.

His wife was still in bed, stretched out to feel the full effects of the electric fan he had set up. Bra long gone, naked she lay, one hand on her stomach and the other stretched above her. She only grunted, shaking her head in response to the statement. 

“Clarke, I can’t leave you here.”

She sighed, curling onto her side. “Someone needs to be here when the repair guy comes.”

Bellamy began opening up the windows, praying that the cold air would spread throughout the furnace. “He comes at twelve. What are you going to do until then?” 

“Sleep,” she murmured, eyes fluttering open to lazily gaze upon him. “Probably throw up some more.” 

A bowl was at her side, already cleaned out once today. 

The comment seemed to cause Bellamy distress, his eyes roaming her sympathetically. “Clarke…” 

“Go, Bell,” she stubbornly insisted. “I’ll be fine.” 

He knew he had too. So he did, albeit very reluctantly. 

Bellamy made sure she had multiple water bottles on the nightstand, alongside snacks, tissues and mints. He made sure her phone was fully charged and off of silent mode. And lastly, he made sure to kiss her on the forehead, promising to make something special for dinner. 

Then he was gone. 

Bellamy’s day after that passed by rather slowly, quizzes and lessons seemingly merging into one. There was nothing unusual, nothing out of the ordinary. 

Midmorning Clarke texted him.

_9:46 AM_  
**Clarke**  
_Minor headache. I’m fine. Need more paracetamol._

He promised to pick some up on the way home. 

She didn't reply.

The day went on. 

At the end of fourth period, a girl named Charlotte approached him. She was a quiet girl, reserved. Though seemingly uninterested in other subjects, she excelled in history. 

“Are you seriously leaving?” she asked timidly, frown on her brow. When he nodded, she pouted. “But you’re the only teacher I like at the goddamn school. You’re the only one I actually learn from.” 

“I’m sorry, Kiddo,” he apologised, actually meaning it. He knew the girl struggled to stay focussed sometimes, needing dedicated teachers to keep her on task and her brain working. “It can’t be helped.”

The girl tugged at the straps of her backpack, occupying herself. “Why?” 

He hadn't yet told his students, though he was sure the rumour would spread soon. 

“My wife’s pregnant. I’m taking time off to spend with my family.”

Taking it in, Charlotte only sighed. “Do people actually do that? Like, the dad’s I mean.” 

“Yeah,” Bellamy nodded, packing up his satchel. “They do. I am.”

This was the 21st century. He wasn't prepared to let Clarke do all the hard work at home. They were a team. A balanced relationship. 

The girl mumbled something under her breath, seemingly dissatisfied with his answer. “Congratulations,” she muttered, closing the door not quite hard enough to call it slamming, but hard enough to know he had upset her. 

Teaching was hard. Bellamy constantly grew attached to his kids, struggling every year to see them move on with their education, with their lives. That’s why he always knew he wanted kids of his own. That way, he would never have to say goodbye, not fully anyway. 

It was lunchtime before Bellamy had the chance to check his phone again. He had been preoccupied all day. When he did though, cup of coffee in his grasp, his heart faltered, dropped then stopped beating all together. A shaky hand placed the cup back onto the table. A loud clunk echoed through the staffroom.

_12:07PM_  
**Davis the Repairman**  
_(3 Missed Calls)._

_12:14PM_  
**Davis the Repairman**  
_Hey man, no one’s answering your door._

_12:15PM_  
**Davis the Repairman**  
_Would you like me to come back at a different time?_

_12:21PM_  
**Davis the Repairman**  
_I waited as long as I could. Call me to arrange a different time._

With a racing heart Bellamy checked his watch. _12:36PM_

Fuck.

He rung Clarke. 

No answer.

Double fuck. 

He rung Clarke again. 

No answer again.

Triple fuck. 

Clarke always answered her phone. She was also a very light sleeper. And he had definitely made sure her phone wasn't on silent this morning. 

Bellamy sprung to his feet, nearly knocking his coffee over in the process. “I need someone to take my classes,” he addressed his colleagues, grabbing his winter coat from the back of his chair. His breathing was unsteady. He was panicking. “I need to go see my wife.” 

The majority nodded, urging him to leave. They all knew Clarke was pregnant. All knowing Bellamy never acted like this. So distraught. 

Something was wrong. 

He fled the premises, practically speeding down the highway. There was no one he could call. No one was in the area. They didn't know their neighbours well enough either, they were quite reserved like that. 

Right now though, he wished they had made the fucking effort. 

He arrived home in record time. 

Breathless, Bellamy jammed the keys into the locked door, shoving his shoulder against it when he deemed the process too time consuming. It swung open. 

“Clarke!”

Everything burned as he ran to their bedroom. His skin, his lungs, his eyes when they threatened to spill tears. 

“Clarke!” 

He found her sprawled out on the bed, exactly the way he left her. Her chest was rising and falling in short bursts of energy, her eyes languidly fluttering open when he neared. The once empty bowl by her side, he noticed, was full of vomit. The bottles he had insisted she should drink…untouched.

“Clarke.” 

It seemed almost laughable. 

Bellamy had been so hung up about the possibility of losing one or more of their babies, that something so significant had slipped his flustered mind. 

He hadn't yet thought about losing his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all,
> 
> Look, I’m not going to lie. There’s a part of me that’s like _why the fuck do you have to be so dramatic all the time?_ but then there’s the other that’s like _do whatever the hell you want, make everyone suffer._
> 
> As you can see I chose the latter.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this rather short update, and please please please let me know what you think of this chapter, of this story, or just life in general.
> 
> Endless love,
> 
> Zoey.


	5. Chapter 5

It seemed almost cruel. In the waiting room they had ordered Bellamy to stay, giving no word of encouragement as they wheeled Clarke through those goddamn double doors, disappearing instantly from sight. 

Dehydration. That’s what the paramedic had told him through his practiced, calm exterior. Somehow, his complete lack of stress when hooking up the IV, when checking Clarke’s vitals, when placing an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth — it discouraged him. 

“Sh-she’s pregnant,” Bellamy kept repeating it, over and over like a mantra. “Quadruplets. Are they all ok? Please tell me they’re all ok. All five of them.” 

It was the same, constant answer over and over. “I’m doing all that I can, Mr Blake. She’s stable for now.” 

It answered nothing. _For now._ There was uncertainty in the future of his wife’s health. Major uncertainty in the health of his unborn children. It wasn't the correct wording to reassure him.

He shouldn't have left her. He should've demanded to take her to his sisters this morning. 

But he had caved. Like always.

None of this would've happened if she hadn't had such a major impact on him. The way she could chisel so easily at his usual stubbornness. 

His knees jiggled with the nerves, his distress causing the inability to sit still. The chairs around him were noticeably vacant, spare for the select few which were occupied. An old man spinning his tartan cap around his index finger. Two middle aged women murmuring to one another, fingers clutching tightly onto the armrests of their chairs. And finally, a young family. It was made up of a man, eerily similar to himself, rubbing at his stubble. Alongside him, two kids. A boy, freckled and seemingly uninterested playing on his gameboy. And an older girl, blonde, head resting on her fathers shoulder. 

It was twenty minutes later, friends all thoroughly notified of the situation, when a diminished surgeon appeared. 

Bellamy, before that moment, believed his heart couldn't have dropped any further than it had done when he had read those text messages two hours prior. He was so utterly wrong. 

He began to stand, body stiff, but soon realised that surgeon and the news on her lips wasn't for him at all. He sat back down.

“How is she?” The words were so quietly murmured from the man behind, that even Bellamy, in the mind set that he was in, knew that this particular guy had lost all hope.

One look from this surgeon and he knew, they all knew. 

Through the tears and the heartache, the sobbing and all the pain — the realisation had struck hard and fast. Like a semi hitting them square in the chest. This man was without a wife, these kids without a mother. The reason why? A burst appendix. Her blood had turned septic. Her organs had shut down.

Bellamy, in complete and utter silence, swallowed the lump in his throat and chewed helplessly at his lip. 

This woman had died because of her dismissal when admitting to the amount of pain she was in.

Bellamy could lose his wife just the same.

He felt like screaming, his hands ready to muffle any sound. Before he even had the chance to form the first syllable of his nightmare, a woman was at his side. 

“Hey,” she whispered, hand brushing over his. Her voice was uncharacteristically soft and soothing, his eyelids fluttering in reaction to it. “Any news?”

Broken, Bellamy fell limp into Raven’s open arms, shaking his head. Her shoulder made a good substitute for his hands. Muffled, almost silent screams smothered by her sweater. 

In pieces, afraid and so very tired — all he could do was cry. And pray. Pray for whatever was out there, who ever was listening…to keep them all safe. Because deep down in his heart, Bellamy truly believed he had done an appalling job so far.

 

* * *

Lincoln and Octavia were the next to arrive, bringing with them the desirable hit that caffeine accompanied. Bellamy took the much needed cup of coffee graciously, as he had skipped his midday fix. He thought maybe that was the reason as to why he was shaking so much. Soon realising, however, that it wasn't that at all. His wife was in hospital and no one was telling him anything. 

Yeah. That was the reason why. 

“Mr Blake.”

It was nearing two hours when he finally heard those words, the words he had been waiting to hear since to minute he got here. “Your wife is asking for you.”

Head snapping upwards, Bellamy just about lost all the oxygen that had been building up in his lungs. He had been expecting the nurse from before. The nurse that had ordered him to sit in the goddamn waiting room all those slow, dense hours ago. 

To his major, heartbreaking disappointment — it wasn’t. 

Abigail Griffin stood, hands defeatedly hanging at her sides, her head covered entirely by this mockingly vibrant patterned surgical cap. She looked dishearteningly displeased, her lips pursed in such a way that under different circumstances, Bellamy might've actually felt threatened. Her face, however, looked a little more weary compared to the first and last time he had saw her. Wrinkled. Tired. 

Though really, Bellamy Blake didn't care much for her facial expression. It was the surgical cap that sent him tipping over the edge. 

“Did she have surgery?” he asked her dumbly, standing quickly on unsteady feet. He knew that it was seemingly impossible that she did so, considering Clarke had only been gone for two hours. 

Still. He wanted an answer. 

Clarke’s mother shook her head, noticing Bellamy eyeing the fabric. She untied the cap, scrunching it tightly in her heavily disinfected hands. “No,” she stated plainly. “I was in surgery when I found out she was a patient.” 

He took a deep breath and nodded. After sparing one final look over his shoulder, feeling reassured by his friends and sister, he followed the surgeon. 

To say it was awkward was an understatement. He was the reason his wife and her mother no longer talked, the reason they had become estranged. Most importantly, he was the major reason Clarke was in this hospital right now. Or so he believed. 

“Is she-“ Bellamy began, only to have the question cut off.

“She’s fine, Bellamy.” 

“An-“

“And the babies, too.”

If she wasn't giving him anything, he was quite fine doing the same. But someone had obviously informed her of the quadruplets. About their marriage. Surprisingly though, she didn't wish to speak anymore about it. She seemed quite content in storming ahead, Bellamy trailing on her heel like a shadow. 

After a silent elevator ride, numerous twisting courses around sharp corners and trek’s down seemingly never-ending corridors — they reached a door. 

Abby knocked, waited, then turned to him. 

“I’ll wait out here.” 

And for that he was so eternally grateful. 

Bellamy wasted not even a singular second, slipping instantly through the doorway and shutting it firmly behind him. Then, and only then, did his eyes settle on Clarke. 

Awake, alert and smiling softly, she stared back at him. “Bell,” she murmured, a little breathless.

But those words were all it took, crying shamelessly yet again as he ran towards her.

“Fuck, Clarke.” Bellamy had her in his arms, careful not to bump or disturb the wires and tubes connected to her body. “I’m sorry.” He kept repeating it, whispering it into her ear, her hair, her skin. “I’m so sorry.”

She looked good despite everything. Unlike the last time he had seen her. Limp. Unresponsive. In all honestly, he never wanted the think about it ever again. His wife being so near, yet so very, very far away. 

The realisation had set in. He had come so close to losing everything today.

“I’m okay.” She was soothing him. It should've been the other way around. Her free arm wrapped around him, pulling him closer until his cries were silenced. “Everything’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. It’s not. She had monitors strapped across her stomach, an IV attached to her arm and still, a goddamn smile was plastered on her fatigued face. 

“How are you so calm?” Bellamy asked her, pulling back and wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands. He’d been so distraught this whole afternoon. 

She reached out, wiping a tear he must’ve missed. “Because I’m okay. The babies are okay.”

“Stop saying that.”

“It’s the truth,” she sighed. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

He frowned, swallowing a lump forming in his throat. It was as if she didn't understand the severity of the situation. “What the hell happened?”

“Breakfast wrap.” Her fingers carded through his unruly curls, smoothing them down so they sat just the way she liked. “I had food poisoning. I couldn't keep anything down, and with the heat and everything — I just got really, really tired. And I passed out.” She shrugged the last part, as if it was no big deal. 

A part of him was angry about it, though he hid it extremely well.

“But you’re gonna be fine, right? The babies too?” 

With a soft smile, she nodded. “I feel good, no more vomiting. And the contractions stopped a while ago.”

“Contractions?” Bellamy’s eyes just about popped out of their sockets. She was only 15 weeks along.

“Braxton Hicks,” she told announced quickly, seeing that she had obviously scared him. “Nothing to worry about. All of their heart rates are stable, too. As is mine.” 

But worrying was what Bellamy was most known for. 

He let out another relieved sigh, closing his eyes and leaning forward to press a lingering kiss on Clarke’s forehead. A forehead in which, prior to this, he had been wiping excessive amounts of sweat off of.

Clarke’s fingers pulled gently on his neck, bringing him down so that his head rested against her shoulder. Like that they stayed, blissfully content in just holding each other after such a hectic afternoon. 

“I love you,” Bellamy gushed. “I’m so glad you’re not dead.”

She gave him a tired chuckle in return, kissing his temple. “I love you more.”

Of course, the blissful feeling subsided when two, sharp and precise knocks sounded on the door merely five minutes later. They both knew who it was without explicitly speaking their thoughts, Bellamy deciding it was best if he slid from his perch on the edge of the bed to sit on the chair next to his wife instead. 

The door opened and suddenly there was Abigail Griffin. Standing at the edge of the bed she was seemingly trying to think of something to say.

Bellamy decided it was best to help. “How long until she can be discharged?” 

Abby visibly swallowed, clasping her hands together. “She’s staying for overnight observation. Tomorrow morning though, if all goes well.” 

“Cool,” Bellamy nodded. Then, turning to Clarke. “That’s good.”

Clarke nodded back, but kept her eyes low. “Yeah,” she murmured. 

The air was thick with tension. Clarke hadn't seen her mother in a year, and so much had happened since then. Marriage. Pregnancy. A whole lot of babies. There was a major build up of question’s on Abby’s part. They could all see that. It was only a matter of time before they were sprung.

That time was now.

Taking a singular step forward, Abby gripped tightly at the barrier at the foot of Clarke’s bed. “What are you doing?” She let it out in a big release of breath, shaking her head slowly from side to side. 

Clarke squared herself up, ready for a fight. “What do you mean?” 

“This,” she swept her arm in the general area of Clarke’s stomach, Bellamy included also in that motion. “You’re twenty two, you’re married and you have four kids on the way.”

Cocking her head slightly, Clarke silently questioned what her mother was trying to convey. “Your point?”

Bellamy secured his hand tightly around Clarke’s, already bracing himself for the looming altercation ahead. 

“You can’t handle this.” 

Baffled at the certainty in Abby’s voice, her jaw dropped. “And what makes you think that?” 

Huffing a laugh, Abby gripped the bed frame harder. “You’re in a hospital because of you and your _husband’s_ inability to recognise the symptoms of food poisoning, of dehydration. And you want to raise four children? You can’t even look after yourselves.”

It angered Clarke and Bellamy alike. 

“You don't get to say that,” Bellamy spoke up, defensive. “You’re judging our parenting skills, and there aren't yet any children to parent. Clarke and I love each other, and we take good care of each other. Today? Maybe I misjudged the situation. But Clarke’s been throwing up this entire pregnancy, she’s been tired this entire pregnancy. So I’m sorry if those symptoms were overlooked.” 

He felt a squeeze at his hand. “Bell practically raised his younger sister and he works with young people for a goddamn living,” Clarke added her say. “And I may not have a lot experience with kids, but that doesn't mean I’m not going to be a good mom. We are going to be good parents.” She spoke as if stating a fact. “We are quite capable.”

Abby didn't say anything after that. There was really no need. 

There was a part of Bellamy that wished for a resolution between them all. Some part of him really wanting his children to grow up knowing what it was like to have grandparents. Bellamy had a grandmother, who he absolutely adored. Clarke had a full set of grandparents. All of them died though, relatively early in their childhoods. Despite this, memories of them all would last forever. 

But grandparents or not, these children would be loved. Not just by their mom and dad, but by the very long list of aunts and uncles who just couldn't wait to meet them. 

Clarke and Bellamy were more than capable of doing this. Whether or not people (Abby) believed they could or not.

 

* * *

True to her word, Clarke was discharged the next day.

Three days after that, a letter came in the mail. 

_Clarke & Bellamy,_

_I’m sorry._

_A late wedding present. Relax while you still can._

_Please can we talk when you get back._

_—Abby (Mom)_

She had booked them a weekend stay at a luxury lodge on a lake, a whole six hours drive away from the city. They looked it up online and _holy shit_ the place beautiful. Blue water, lush greenery on never-ending mountainous terrain. Such beauty came with a price, however. A goddamn expensive one. They sure as hell weren't going to let that reservation go to waste. Even if it was a bribe of sorts.

But of course, there was a catch. There was always a catch. 

The high risk pregnancy was called high risk for a reason. There were things that had been advised against, and things that were strictly prohibited. Sex just happened to be one of those things. 

“Nothing penetrative,” their doctor had informed the couple a few days ago. “You just need to get…creative.”

Clarke wanted to bury her face in her hands. She was spending an entire weekend with her husband in seemingly, the most romantic place on earth. And they couldn't have sex.

“You’re an artist, babe,” Bellamy beamed, pinching her ass as they packed up the back of their station wagon a week later. “You’re meant to be creative.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I’m a major wimp. I love Clarke too much to let anything too bad happen to her. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!! :))))


	6. Chapter 6

Clarke would've like to have said that the road trip to Honeywood Lodge was blissful, a time in which they sung obnoxiously loud to their favourite songs, bonded over the collective love for one another and overall had an extraordinary, relaxing time. But the plain truth was, it wasn't blissful and it wasn't at all relaxing. 

It was a kind of hell. 

Clarke needed to pee every fifteen minutes, meaning that scheduled stops needed to be planned or otherwise they would be dealing with some rather dire repercussions. But roadside toilets weren't the cleanest nor the nicest places, always leaving the blonde in a bad mood whenever she trudged back out minutes later. 

Bellamy tried his hardest to make it up to her, withstanding the cold when she decided that the car was as hot as the surface of the sun, as well as promising snack stops every hour. But it wasn't worth the trouble, especially when on the fourth venture into a gas station / convenience store, scanning the aisles for whatever her babies were craving, a complete stranger decided that it would be totally appropriate to put her hands all over Clarke’s pregnant stomach, assuming that she was in her third trimester and ready to pop at any given moment. 

“Actually, I’m sixteen weeks,” she replied bitterly, stone cold. “And, might I add, next time you spot a pregnant woman out in public — please do not touch her stomach without her permission.” 

Yeah, she was pissed, grumpy beyond belief, completely unwilling to deal with the general public today. 

But Bellamy took it all in his stride, pulling his wife close and pressing a reassuring kiss to her temple after the woman had fled. “Am I allowed to touch your stomach without permission?” he teased, whispering into the shell of her ear.

“Well, you're the main reason they're in there,” she grumbled, turning to wrap her arms around his strong neck in a surprisingly affectionate gesture, given her mood. “So, I guess.” 

“Cool,” he smiled, rubbing the swell where their babies lay. “I like touching your stomach.” 

When she pulled away, she pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “I know.”

 

* * *

Clarke opened her eyes two hours later and they were there, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by blurred trees and mountains and lakes. Blinking, everything became clear. Spectacular blue, green and browns all combined together, painting the canvas of their surrounds in a spectacular piece. She itched for some paint and a canvas, something to capture this beauty, frowning once she realised that she’d only brought a few lead pencils and a handful of charcoal. There was nothing to capture the colour. 

“I brought my camera, sleepyhead,” Bellamy spoke, knowing her all too well as he pulled into a vacant parking space. 

She smiled, still a little groggy from her nap. “You’re the best.”

Bellamy insisted on singlehandedly carrying all their luggage into the beautiful lodge, their jaws and bags dropping as they walked into the lobby. Staff instantly rushed to their aid, whether it be yearning for a tip or their customer service was just simply outstanding, they would never know. But the lobby and overly nice staff was nothing compared to their luxury room. With a bed fit for a king, a bath bigger than Jupiter and a breathtaking view, Clarke’s attitude instantly improved, another type of mood taking over her body.

They were barely through the door before she just about pounced, pushing her husband onto the bed. 

Bellamy wasn't at all opposed to the idea. 

“Undress,” Bellamy spoke, smirking, leaning back on the mountains of pillows. He had his hands behind his head, clearly ready for a show. “Fully. Finish what you started the first time.” He was trying so hard not to laugh, Clarke could see that. So she starting giggling alongside him, rubbing at her forehead as she reminisced. 

They were drunk the first time they decided they wanted to have sex, like overwhelmingly drunk. It was games night, a thunderstorm hammering the city like never before. Clarke was hosting and Bellamy, like always, was the first to arrive. He was also the only person to arrive. Despite a string of text messages confirming cancellation from the other members in their group, Bellamy and Clarke decided to make the most of the occasion.

Cracking open a bottle of wine, they settled on the couch, channel surfing until they found something remotely interesting to watch. Though, it captured their attention for all of two minutes. The electricity cut out, the world around them falling to darkness.

Still, they wouldn't be deterred. Candles were lit, the alcoholic drinks in the warming fridge were drunk, meaningless conversations turned to silence and edging closer to one another on the couch ended up with Clarke on Bellamy’s lap, the rhythmic and purposeful rocking she made while they made out getting them both breathless with need.

The thing was, they weren't yet official. They had kissed before, a celebratory new years peck on the lips. And an hour after that, when one too many shots led to them making out on the porch swing outside, ceasing only when Murphy demanded they got their wasted asses into the taxi waiting for them. 

It was something they had tried to hide, the underlying attraction they had towards each other. But that night, in the flickering candlelight there was no denying it anymore. Something like this couldn't be denied, pushed down and forgotten. 

When the kissing turned to roaming, she pushed herself off of his lap and turning on a rather questionable song, she began to strip. Clarke blamed the alcohol. It, in her eyes, made her entirely too adventurous. Overly so. The striptease wasn't as sexy as her drunken mind had hoped. When trying to take off her jeans, one of her legs got caught and twisted beneath her, causing her to trip, head butting Bellamy’s testicular area as she went plummeting towards the ground. 

They both started groaning, but not in pleasure as they had originally planned. Instead of having wild, crazy, drunken sex, they spent the majority of the night with a packet of thawing, though still slightly frozen peas to Bellamy’s crotch and an ice pack to Clarke’s head.

“Seriously,” Clarke laughed, rolling her eyes. “Bell, I’m pregnant. I’m clumsy now, even more so than I was that night.”

But Bellamy only smiled encouragingly, chewing at his lip as he eyed the woman before him. “Please,” he whispered gently, winking. “Before you get too immobile and before we get so tired that we only have sex once a month.” 

Scoffing, Clarke quickly tore off her blouse and threw it at her husband, the material spreading evenly across his face on impact. “You asshole. We’ll have sex at least four times a month. Once a week,” she teased, hands reaching behind her to unhook her bra before she stopped, eyes widening like she had forgotten something.

“What?” he chuckled, pulling the shirt away from his face.

She smiled at him coyly, mood instantly changing. “I could take my clothes off. Or…” she sauntered towards their unpacked suitcase, purposely bending over in Bellamy’s direction to pull out a gift bag. Differing shades of pink stripes. _Lingerie._ Clarke hooked the ribboned handle over her index finger, swinging it suggestively. “I could put something on.” 

They had never really got to that stage in their relationship. Never really dressing up to appease the other. Sure, Clarke might've worn a lacy bra once or twice, maybe even a matching set on rare occasions. But never had she worn something like what was concealed in this bag. Their sex life was pretty vanilla when it came to the clothing they wore whilst doing it. In their pyjamas, casual t-shirts or just plain naked. 

They didn't really care. Just as long as they were together they were happy. 

“On,” Bellamy announced, breathing suddenly ragged as he sat up straighter in the bed. “Definitely on.”

 

* * *

“I look stupid, don't I?”

Clarke lingered in the doorway of the bathroom, cocking her head to decipher her husband’s reaction to what she was clad in. 

His darkened gaze blatantly roamed every inch of herself that she presented. It was as if he was mapping her, trying to retain as much of what he was seeing in order to reference it later. A mental image he was taking, eyes widening as he took the shot. His agape mouth closed only so he could lick his lips, his tongue darting out to moisten them. 

Despite this, Clarke remained weirdly uncertain about the whole thing. There was entirely too much mesh tickling her skin, the lilac material feeling so different to what she was use to. It was breezy, open and somehow, she felt even more vulnerable than she did when she stood naked at the end of the bed. The white ribbons that criss-crossed over her stomach didn't help either, tied in a bow near her crotch. The hem of the garment tickled the tops of her thighs and not in a good way.

Bellamy wasn't answering her question. She tried again. “Tell me I look stupid.”

He opened his mouth, ready to speak, but no words fell from it. Shaking his head, he recollected himself, rubbing at his stubble. A murmur in response. “You look so fucking hot.” 

Raising a questioning eyebrow, she edged her way towards the end of the bed. “Really?” When he nodded, she crawled onto the mattress, trailing her way up his uncharacteristically rigid body, her forearms framing his head as she leant down to kiss him softly on his parted lips.”Really, really?”

With slow, deliberate movements, Bellamy’s fingers tugged on the bow until it unraveled, her stomach peaking out between the curtain of fabric. “Really, really.”

 

* * *

Clarke sat in Bellamy’s lap an hour later, facing him, legs stretched out and crossed loosely at her ankles. Her arms were wrapped around his neck. Loose. Holding him close with minimal effort. She was breathless, rather spent. It had dawned on her a couple of minutes ago that she had married a magician. Thinking the thought alone wasn't enough. “You, Bellamy Blake, are a magic man.” 

Bellamy grinned. His exterior mirrored her, though his hands were placed differently. One on her hip. The other trailing the length of her spine, pulling her closer. Leaning in, he seared a kiss to his wife’s lips, keeping her there until she had to physically push him away to catch a breath. 

She sucked in a gulp oxygen, releasing it only when her head dropped to his shoulder. Like that they stayed for a while, in silence, finding solace in the proximity of one another and the crackling of the firewood as it was ablaze with light and heat. 

It was so peaceful here, so blissfully quiet. They both didn't want to leave, go back to the hustle and bustle of the city they had left behind. 

But suddenly, quickly and all at once the revere for the peaceful environment was abandoned — Clarke’s head snapped backwards, eyes bulging as she stared at her husband. 

“What?” Bellamy asked, suddenly worried. “Clarke, what is it?”

But she was too excited to speak, too breathless to make any coherent sounds. Instead, one hand fell to her stomach, the other reaching for his so that he could do the same. She was smiling like an idiot, her eyes glassing over ever so slightly. 

Finally it clicked for Bellamy. Breathless himself, he asked, “You feel something?” 

Enthusiastically, she nodded. “A flutter,” she laughed, pointing to where she felt it. “A goddamn flutter, Bell.”

The overwhelming amount of pride in Bellamy’s eyes in that moment was undeniable, his lower lip quivering just ever so slightly. His heart was in his eyes, anyone and everyone could see that. 

“Babe,” she whispered gently, still smiling. “Are you going to cry?” 

He shook his head, but the dam that was keeping his tears at bay was already starting to crack. 

“You sure?” she asked through a poorly concealed chuckle, her gaze soft. 

And then he started to cry. Blatantly. Not at all trying to hide the fact that he was. “Shut up,” he groaned when she continued to laugh at him. “I’m happy.” 

“I know.” Her hand left her stomach, cupping the side of Bellamy’s cheek instead. “But I’m meant to be the hormonal one. And it was just a flutter. What’s going to happen when they start kicking? When they're born?” 

He sighed a small sigh, forehead falling to rest upon hers. “Then I’ll be the happiest goddamn mess you will ever encounter. Just you wait.” 

Clarke had no choice but to kiss him, lips pressing into his. 

This was the Bellamy that only she got to see, her husband, the one who stole her heart. And she knew, with every fibre of her being, that he was going to be the world’s greatest dad.

 

* * *

It was much later in the evening when they finally decided to untangle themselves from one another, to throw on some respectable clothes and make their way downstairs for dinner. And while Bellamy was quite snug beneath his undershirt, shirt, knitted jumper and coat out on the open patio, Clarke couldn't help but complain about the cold. 

It wasn't his fault that she insisted on wearing her new knitted dress. It only just covered her knees, sleeves barely covering her elbows. There was no doubt that she looked hot in it, but it wasn't worth withstanding the freezing temperature.

“I told you to wear something warmer,” Bellamy murmured, watching as Clarke leaned back in her chair, pouting like a chid with her arms wrapped around her torso. “I was right, wasn't I?” 

Reluctantly, she nodded. There was no denying the goosebumps erupting on her skin. 

It seemingly satisfied him, letting her acknowledge that he was right for a change. Bellamy stood, shucking off his own coat to give to his wife. “I’ll go get you yours,” he told her, leaning down to plant a kiss to the top of her head. “Stay here.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she smiled thankfully, watching as he walked away. As an afterthought, she whispered, head lolling backwards as she did so, “I’m too big to move.”

 

* * *

With newly fetched coat in hand, Bellamy lingered in front of the elevator doors he had emerged from just minutes prior for only a few seconds when his company, the man standing in front of him, turned. 

He was an old man, wrinkles marring deep within the lines of his face. Wizened and beyond, with these piercing blue eyes that Bellamy was sure would seep right through and into your soul, unravelling any type of secrets you were trying to hide in there. Despite this, there was a sort of warmth to him too. A part in which he couldn't quite decipher. 

“I’ve been standing here for five minutes, Son. I have a feeling the damn thing is jammed.” 

“Oh, okay,” Bellamy answered dumbly, taking a step backwards. “The stairs it is, I guess.” 

Bellamy was just about to turn and walk down the hallway to where the staircase was situated, but a stutter from the old man caused him to stop. 

“Do you mind?” He was gesturing his walking stick, and Bellamy felt like an absolutely ass for not offering before. “My balance ain’t the best, and I don't want to break a hip walking down those things.” 

“Of course,” Bellamy nodded, walking alongside the man with slow, purposeful steps, starting a little small talk with the guy. 

“I’m Evan, by the way,” the elderly gentleman spoke, offering his forearm for Bellamy to hold as they made their way down the stairs. 

“Bellamy,” he answered in return.

The trip down was a long one, a steady one, but neither seemed to mind. 

When asked, Bellamy told Evan that he was here with his wife, a late wedding present from his mother-in-law. He told him that they were expecting, disclosing exactly how many, and that this would probably be the last holiday they went on for a very long time.

Evan liked speaking about his own life just that little bit more, seemingly unbothered that he was speaking to a stranger. It was as if he wanted his entire life story known. He, in return, told Bellamy that he use to come here with his wife when they were newlyweds, when they needed an escape from it all. Bellamy learnt that Evan’s wife had died a long time ago, and that she hadn't been his wife for all of the time prior to her passing. That they were divorced but he never stopped loving her. Not one bit.

Heartbreaking, really.

“We had a son but he died when he was two days old.”

Bellamy hoped that he didn't visibly wince upon hearing that, but he wasn't sure.

“It broke us both. I was the one to try and fix our marriage again, but it was a one-sided attempt. She didn't love me anymore. She didn't _want_  to love me anymore. So she divorced me, disappeared, got re-married and had another kid. She forgot about me.” 

Bellamy helped the man down the final step, holding him on solid ground as he regained his breath. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Bellamy murmured, unsure of what else to say. This man was an obviously lonely man, and Bellamy couldn't help but feel that this was probably the closest thing he had gotten to a decent conversation in a while.

“S’okay,” the man acknowledged, sounding utterly dejected. “It happens.”

It broke Bellamy’s heart even more.

“Evan, have you got someone to eat with tonight?” he asked him, genuinely curios. When he shook his head, Bellamy caved. “Would you like to come eat with my wife and I?”

With a smile, he nodded.

“Okay then.”

They made their way towards the table where Clarke was seated, her back turned towards them, notably haven eaten both her husbands and her own serving of bread.

“Babe, this is Evan. Evan this is—“ but as Bellamy was about to introduce his wife, he was cut off entirely.

Evan laid his eyes on her and immediately the words fell from his wrinkled lips. “Rosie?”

“Um,” Clarke’s eyes drifted quickly to Bellamy’s before darting back to the piercing blue of Evan’s eyes. “It’s Clarke.” She rose, offering her hand to man, but he didn't take it immediately.

Mapping out every inch of her, Evan frowned. He then, eventually, collected himself enough to join their hands in a firm handshake, shaking his head as he did so. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, still holding her in a tight grip. “You remind me so much of my wife.”

“Rosie?” she questioned, dropping back into her seat, hand slipping from his. Offering the seat across from her that was originally Bellamy’s, Clarke seemingly already knew that he had asked this man to sit with them. “I had a grandmother named Rosie.”

“Rosie Baxter?” Then, shaking his head once more. “No. It would've been Rosie Griffin, right?”

When she nodded, Evan just about fell into his chair.

Bellamy couldn't get a word in the rest of the night.

 

* * *

“What are the chances, huh?” Clarke yawned as they lay in bed later that evening, left hand running through his unruly curls as she spoke. He had his lips pressed on her stomach, murmuring something too low for her to hear. “I can’t believe my grandmother never told me that she had been married before.” 

Bellamy hummed in quiet agreement, looking up at her. 

“I never liked her,” she admitted as Bellamy huffed a laugh, fingers trailing her sides. 

But Clarke turned serious, frowning as her fingers ceased mid motion. “I don't want that for our kids, Bell,” she sighed a breathless sigh before swallowing. “I want them to have at least one grandparent that they like. That we can stand. God, our kids would've adored my dad, and I know he would've adored them all right back.” It was her turn to cover up the fact that she was now crying. 

“Hey, hey,” Bellamy whispered gently, pulling himself upwards towards the top of the bed to hold her in his arms. She took a deep breath as he pulled her closer, letting the side of her face fall against his heaving chest. “Don’t cry, Clarke. This is meant to be a happy weekend, remember?”

And with a sniffle, she nodded against him, trying to calm herself down. 

Breathe in. 

Just like she had practiced. 

Breathe out. 

“Let’s get some sleep, yeah?” Bellamy whispered after a while, his right hand rubbing careless patterns onto every inch of her exposed skin. “We can do whatever you want tomorrow. Does that sound good?” 

“Okay,” she breathed, turning away from him only for his arms to wrap around her, holding her as close as physically possible, her back pressed firmly against his solid torso. It felt warm, good and reassuring, everything you wanted just as you were about to drift off to sleep. 

But Clarke’s eyes remained open, staring at the diminished embers of the dying fire. Nothing could've distracted her from the heavy weight she was feeling weighing down in the pit of her stomach — and it wasn't her babies. 

No. 

It was the godawful feeling of doubt. Doubt that her mother would be able to pull through, to make amends with her daughter and her husband to leave the past behind them. Clarke wanted that, more than anything. She wanted Abby’s support and Abby’s love. There was still a yearning for it. Just starting to become a mother herself, Clarke could only dream of granting her own some forgiveness.

But if Abby couldn't do that, if Abby chose not to be a grandmother that both her and Bellamy wanted for their children, then that was her problem. Not at all theirs. 

Because lying there, starting to reminisce about the hours prior, it had dawned on Clarke that they had a backup, a plan B if you will. They had Evan. And though Clarke knew that they had known the guy for mere hours, something about it just felt right. She had this feeling, way deep down in the depths of her heart, that Evan would be sticking around much longer than just the weekend. 

Smiling at the thought, her hand dropped to entwine her fingers with Bellamy’s, the weight of their joined hands laying protectively over her protruding belly. She allowed this small comfort to lull her into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haphazardly thrown together, haphazardly edited. 
> 
> Sorry about my lack of updates, life is hectic y’all. 
> 
> Anyway, new character alert! All I can say is that good ol Evan is important. ;))
> 
> Please let me know what you’re thinking!!
> 
> Endless love,
> 
> A very unmotivated Zoey.


End file.
